


earth flowers blood

by inkin_brushes



Series: Immortals (Vamp AU) [49]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-05-27 11:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6283294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkin_brushes/pseuds/inkin_brushes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think you need this, Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk whispered. “I think you need to do this, and I think I need to be here. And we don’t have much longer.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wonshik knocked on Sanghyuk’s front door with some trepidation. He’d woken up soon after dusk to a text from Sanghyuk that simply read, _urgent, please come by my place_ , so here he was, nervously fidgeting on Sanghyuk’s worn welcome mat.  
  
The door opened to reveal Sanghyuk whole and unhurt, and Wonshik breathed a sigh of relief. Then he was being yanked into the apartment, the door shutting behind him quickly. “Took you long enough,” Sanghyuk hissed. “We don’t have much time, I have to leave for work soon.”  
  
Wonshik squinted. “The sun only set like an hour ago,” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I’m a vampire. If the sun is up, I am not.” Sanghyuk shot him a sour look, so Wonshik relented, putting his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Alright, alright, well I’m here now, so what’s up? You look— okay. I was worried.”  
  
“It’s not me, it’s Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said softly, urgently, and Wonshik’s stomach jolted. But he knew his loving maker was home, still snoozing, probably. He had been when Wonshik left, anyway. “He’s— last night Hakyeon talked to him.”  
  
That had taken a turn Wonshik wasn’t expecting. “He— what?”  
  
Sanghyuk exhaled, the sound frustrated, and he whirled away, running his hand through his hair before spinning back around. “Hakyeon. He— he told Jaehwan—” Sanghyuk’s mouth twisted. “He told Jaehwan that I almost fell in love with him.”  
  
Wonshik blinked. “Wait. You what? He what? What?”  
  
Sanghyuk visibly swallowed and he looked down at his dingy linoleum floor. “Back at the start of things,” he murmured, “I got— close. To falling in love with Jaehwan. It— it was a near thing, and even though I didn’t, in the end, it still had an effect on me. I confided in Hakyeon, and he— he felt Jaehwan needed to know. So he went over my head and told him.”   
  
“Oh,” Wonshik said lamely. Hakyeon had left with some haste after Sanghyuk had, and Jaehwan had seemed a bit— off. But no more off than usual. “I— why are you telling me this? You know I can’t do anything about Hakyeon. He’s been this way since he was born.”  
  
Sanghyuk shook his head. “I already spoke to Hakyeon,” he said darkly. “I just— is Jaehwan alright? I didn’t want him to know, I knew it would hurt him, I’m so mad—”  
  
“Whoa, Sanghyuk,” Wonshik said, touching Sanghyuk’s shoulder gently, because Sanghyuk looked like he was building towards tears. “Easy, kiddo, it’s alright. Jaehwan seemed pretty normal last night— or at least as normal as he’s been able to get, these last few weeks.”  
  
Sanghyuk looked surprisingly wretched. “He’s— he might just be learning how to hide it again,” he murmured. “I worry this might have set him back, might make him— relapse— check in on him, please?” Sanghyuk was outright wringing his hands, and Wonshik felt very wrong-footed. “I didn’t— I was worried if I came by myself it might make things worse, if he was in a bad place. But tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I— I’ll talk to him about it, if he wants. He can stop by.”  
  
Wonshik took Sanghyuk in, the way he wouldn’t quite meet Wonshik’s eyes, the fidgeting and stiff posture. “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?” Wonshik murmured, and Sanghyuk winced, blood rushing to his cheeks. “You don’t owe him anything, you know.”  
  
“I want him to get better, Wonshik,” Sanghyuk said softly, voice a bit thick. “I want him to stop suffering so much.”   
  
Wonshik’s chest ached, because even after all this time, Sanghyuk was still so soft, when by all logic, he should be as cold and hard as Jaehwan had thought himself to be. “Oh, kiddo,” Wonshik whispered, “you’re too kind for your own good.”  
  
Sanghyuk was shaking his head, laughing a little hollowly. “It’s not kindness,” he said, seemingly to himself, then his eyes darted to the clock on the microwave and he swore. “I have to go— please tell him, okay? Tell him that even though I said— I can’t be his crutch anymore— if he needs to talk to me about this, he can.”  
  
“Okay,” Wonshik said, watching with wide eyes as Sanghyuk snatched his keys off the table then turned and flit right out the door, fast for a human, leaving Wonshik alone in his house.  
  
Wonshik stood there, in Sanghyuk’s kitchen, until he heard the sound of his old car starting, the rumble of the engine an old friend. Once Sanghyuk had driven off, Wonshik locked the front door from the inside, then left through the living room window.   
  
He flit through the darkness absently, thinking of Sanghyuk’s words. He understood why Sanghyuk would have thought Jaehwan might have have another break, he’d have thought so too, and yet Jaehwan had seemed relatively alright last night before they’d slept.   
  
When Wonshik arrived home, he heard shuffling in the kitchen, but it was just Hongbin, getting his breakfast. “Hey,” Hongbin murmured, voice still a little husky from sleep. “You went out early.”  
  
“Sanghyuk needed me,” Wonshik said briskly. “Is Jaehwan up?”  
  
“I don’t think so.”   
  
“I need to talk to him,” Wonshik said, turning and heading for the hallway.   
  
Hongbin called out to him. “Is Sanghyuk okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Wonshik replied, not stopping, “he just needs me to check in on Jaehwan for him.”  
  
Hongbin made a noise over that, a strange guttural snort, and Wonshik ignored him in favor of moving down the hall at vamp speed, figuring if Jaehwan _had_ had another break, he’d probably be in his bed, or on his floor, crying out enough blood for a sacrificial rite.  
  
“Jaehwan?” Wonshik called, knocking tentatively on Jaehwan’s bedroom door before he poked his head in, peering around.  
  
Jaehwan was not in his bed. Jaehwan was not on his floor. Jaehwan was, seemingly, not in his room at all, and Wonshik’s stomach did an unpleasant flip-flop, before he realized he could smell steam and rose petals.   
  
He stepped into the room. “Jaehwan?” he called again and he heard the faint sound of Jaehwan’s put-upon sigh.  
  
“I’m trying to cleanse myself, oh child of mine,” Jaehwan called from his ensuite bathroom.   
  
Wonshik grit his teeth and then strode to the bathroom. The door was cracked, so he pushed it, gently, and it swung open enough to reveal Jaehwan laying in his bathtub, head tipped back and hair slicked off his face. He had a rose petal covering each eye.  
  
“Why are you doing this to me?” Jaehwan asked, not moving, and Wonshik resolutely focused on his nose.  
  
“Sanghyuk texted me,” Wonshik said, and Jaehwan went still, “he wanted me to go to his house urgently—”  
  
Jaehwan sat up, the rose petals falling off his face and onto the surface of the water. “Is he alright?”  
  
The urgency of that statement felt likely to slice Wonshik open. “Yes, yes he’s fine,” Wonshik said quickly, and Jaehwan settled back a bit, though it was clear Wonshik now had his undivided attention. “He was worried about you, actually.”  
  
A pause. “Ah,” Jaehwan said delicately. “Because of the discussion Hakyeon and I had last night. Word does travel fast.”   
  
“I have to admit that after Sanghyuk told me, I was also worried I’d come home to find you on the floor crying,” Wonshik said, watching Jaehwan’s expression closely, “but you’re not.”  
  
“No, I’m not.” Jaehwan’s voice was very light, almost forcefully so. “Perhaps I am falling out of love.”  
  
 _We all know that isn’t true_ , Wonshik thought, face twisting at Jaehwan’s obvious bravado, and Jaehwan caught sight of the expression and laughed.  
  
“I’ve lost my ability to lie, it seems,” Jaehwan said, still smiling. “No, I think, if anything, it is simply that— I am getting better at dealing with things. To a degree. And while this specific information was new— I already was aware I ruined this. I just ruined it more than I’d initially realized. It is simply one more drop in this overflowing bucket.” He sank down slowly as he spoke, so the water was up to his ears, head tipped back so his face wasn’t in it. “It doesn’t matter, both Sanghyuk and I know how this is going to end. This doesn’t change it. Nothing will change it.”  
  
Wonshik frowned, not really sure what that meant. “He wanted me to tell you he was sorry, and that if you need to talk it out with him, he’ll listen, this once,” he said, and Jaehwan looked at him in surprise, as best as he could from being mostly submerged in the tub. “He seemed really worried.”  
  
Jaehwan sighed. “He is too good for me,” he said, eyes fluttering shut. “But I must admit I do wish to speak with him about this. I will go see him— he is at work, yes?” Wonshik murmured an affirmative. “Mm. Thank you, Wonshik. Now get out. I forgot to bring my towel into the bathroom and I am about to stand up.”  
  
Wonshik turned and left, faster than he would have done if he’d been compulsed.   
  
——  
  
Despite Sungjae’s request, and Ilhoon refusing to meet his eyes, Sanghyuk had gone out on patrol alone. He knew, logically, it made no difference, and in HQ it was easier to tell himself that, but once he was out on the streets he found it was harder to deal with.  
  
Sanghyuk was shivering as he walked, more from anxiety than cold at this point. He’d been out for a few hours already, and the pitch of fear he’d been on was exhausting him. His head kept swivelling, in a fashion he knew was hyper-vigilant, and probably looked exceedingly suspicious. But he couldn’t help it. The streets on his patrol grid were currently ghostly deserted, and there was a fog cover rolling in, simply adding to the haunted effect.   
  
“This is stupid,” he muttered, lightly touching the hilt of his blade to give himself comfort. Just as he said it, there was a tingle on his wards, the sunburst warming with energy, and Sanghyuk’s heart skipped a beat and then proceeded to race.   
  
He stopped walking. It was bad form, to let the vampire know you’d cottoned on to them, but Sanghyuk couldn’t pretend otherwise, his skyrocketing heartbeat would have given him away anyway. He looked behind himself, then back to the street yawning out in front of him, not seeing any movement, but the visibility currently wasn’t great.   
  
There was a scraping noise, like shoes on brick, and Sanghyuk whirled to see a form jumping down onto the concrete. It straightened into a familiar silhouette and all the fear left Sanghyuk in a rush, leaving him feeling weak and like he may faint.  
  
“Oh, Jaehwan,” he gasped, holding a hand over his stomach, trying to convince it to settle. “You scared me.”   
  
Jaehwan stepped nearer, face somber as he blinked up at Sanghyuk. “Jumpy?” Jaehwan whispered. “Your heart is pounding.”  
  
“Yeah, I— yeah,” Sanghyuk said lamely. He didn’t want to tell Jaehwan about the crazed vampire on the loose that had killed a VCF officer. Let Jaehwan make of this what he would.   
  
“I received your message,” Jaehwan said, stepping up to Sanghyuk, very close, and then passing him by. He smelled like roses. Sanghyuk blinked and then trailed after him, so they were walking side by side down the street. “I could have sent Wonshik back with a reply, but I decided that since you were fine with it, I would come by myself.”  
  
Sanghyuk looked down at Jaehwan, trying to garner something from his expression, since he was getting nothing from his voice. But Jaehwan’s face was schooled into neutrality. “Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk whispered, “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Jaehwan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when he opened them again, he was very focused on the road ahead of them. “Wonshik said that,” Jaehwan said flatly, “but it is not your fault Hakyeon is— the way he is.”  
  
Sanghyuk’s hands fisted at his side. “Hakyeon had no right,” he found himself saying with a good deal of heat in his voice. “He was out of line, far fucking out of line.”  
  
To Sanghyuk’s great surprise, Jaehwan’s mouth quirked a bit at that. “It is refreshing,” Jaehwan said, glancing at Sanghyuk at last, almost coy, “to have you mad at someone else for a change.”  
  
Sanghyuk choked, and then found himself laughing, the sound echoing down the empty street. After a moment, Jaehwan joined him, blunt teeth glinting white in the street lamps. It occurred to Sanghyuk that it had been quite a long while since he had seen Jaehwan’s fangs. It had also been a long time since either of them had laughed like this. It felt nice, easing the knot in Sanghyuk’s stomach.  
  
Once their laughter had quieted, Jaehwan spoke again. “Do not be too angry at Hakyeon though,” he murmured, still smiling gently. Sanghyuk gaped at him. “He loves you and wants what is best for you. I cannot fault him that. Even if his methods may not be the kindest.”  
  
Sanghyuk stopped walking, and Jaehwan did as well, turning quizzically, one eyebrow raised. “Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said softly, “you promised honesty, please don’t pretend in front of me.”  
  
“Would you rather I came to you weeping and in pieces?” Jaehwan asked, tipping his head, exposing the side of his neck. His smile turned a little sad. “Do you prefer me like that now? I suppose it is an improvement from how I was before.”  
  
“No,” Sanghyuk immediately said, like it was involuntarily wrenched out of him, “no, I just— I was sure what he’d said would have— have hurt you.”  
  
Jaehwan looked away, crossing his arms loosely. “Yes,” he said, “it did. I— I will not pretend it did not cause damage. But I am getting better at dealing with it. Or perhaps I simply cannot break any further.” He shrugged. “But what you said hurt me as well, and Hakyeon— it made it all come together, some things fit better, now. I understand. And I know now how to not repeat past errors. And why.” He looked up at Sanghyuk through his lashes. “You cannot ask honesty of me and refuse to give it yourself.”  
  
Sanghyuk jerked. “I was trying to protect you, Jaehwan. I don’t want to cause you any more suffering.”  
  
Jaehwan was staring at him, unblinking, and Sanghyuk had to look away, afraid all his secrets would be laid bare by that gaze. His dreams of late, his fears of death and of love. His fears of Jaehwan.  
  
“Give me honesty, Sanghyuk,” Jaehwan murmured, and it sent a shiver down Sanghyuk’s spine. “What Hakyeon said— it was true?” His voice dropped even further, so it was barely audible. “You almost fell in love with me?”  
  
 _I’m almost in love with you now_ , Sanghyuk thought, and then shivered again. He didn’t want to go over this, was afraid of slipping up, of saying something more current. “I think so,” he said cagily, knowing full well it was true. “I— I got close to something. It's why when we eventually really fell out, it hurt me so much.”  
  
“I did not— foster those sorts of feelings,” Jaehwan said, a hint of wretchedness creeping into his voice. “I did not want love. How did you— why? Why did you have— have feelings for me?”  
  
“Why does anyone love anyone else?” Sanghyuk said, a little desperately. He didn’t want to _think_ about this, about what it had been about Jaehwan that had first drawn him in, like sweet honey. Because those aspects were still in Jaehwan now, and they were still as tempting. “I just— you made me smile. You’re smart and charismatic and—” He glanced up at Jaehwan and cut himself off, hard, rearing back, because Jaehwan had this _look_ on his face, sharp, calculating, like he was taking notes. “No,” Sanghyuk said, “no, Jaehwan, no, you— don’t. You can’t just trick me into loving you. I told you before, Jaehwan, you can’t play act it to make me hang around, that isn’t fucking fair.” He was trembling, wondering if he’d dodged that bullet in time.  
  
“What if I am not acting?” Jaehwan asked, voice dropping intensely, “What if I actually sort through this, what if—”  
  
“Will you?” Sanghyuk cut him off, his own voice going a bit high with fear, “will you do it before I _die_?”  
  
Jaehwan’s face twisted, and he swallowed thickly. “I can try.”  
  
Sanghyuk shook his head. “I can’t love you anymore,” he said, the lie acidic on his tongue. But he couldn’t have Jaehwan trying to make him fall in love, play acting to get Sanghyuk’s heart before he died. He needed to focus on his own recovery, on moving forward without Sanghyuk. For both their sakes. “It all went too wrong,” he found himself continuing. “I told you before, Jaehwan, friendship is all i can give.”  
  
“You care,” Jaehwan said stoutly. “You cannot take that from me.”  
  
“Yes,” Sanghyuk said, sighing shakily. “I care. I’ve told you that. And I’ve told you we can be friends, which we can, that is still on the table, but you said you don’t want that. You can’t do that.”  
  
Jaehwan scowled down at the ground. “I have always been an all or nothing sort,” he muttered.  
  
“Don’t I know it,” Sanghyuk said to himself. He was partially glad for it. He wanted to be near Jaehwan, but he knew it would be better if they didn’t see each other often, no matter how much he craved it. If Jaehwan kept up his recovery, if he tried, really tried— Sanghyuk would fall.   
  
He was in trouble.  
  
Jaehwan sighed, and he rubbed his hands over his face. Then he smiled up at Sanghyuk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll let you get back to your patrol,” he said, turning away, and Sanghyuk jolted, a little.   
  
“Jaehwan,” he said, and Jaehwan turned back slightly to look at him. “I’m— I’m glad. That you’re getting better. That you don’t need me so much, anymore.” In his mind, he was glad for it, but at the core of him, it was rubbing him raw.   
  
Jaehwan’s eyelids fluttered down so he was looking at Sanghyuk through hooded eyes. “I am getting better at coping,” he murmured, some aspect of his voice reverberating in an utterly vampiric manner that made the hairs on Sanghyuk’s nape prickle, “but you are wrong, if you think I do not need you. You are wrong if you think my feelings have changed. I still love you as much as I did before. Perhaps more.”  
  
Sanghyuk felt heat coming to his cheeks, and he gasped, a little, searching for words to reply with, but Jaehwan was already gone, the mist swirling in the place he’d just been standing.   
  
“Oh,” Sanghyuk whispered, touching icy fingertips to his warm face. “Oh.”  
  
He stood there for a long while, Jaehwan’s words pinging around his head. It was— horrible of him, selfish and ugly, that they warmed him. He should want Jaehwan to fall out of love with him, and yet he himself was so close to falling in love, that he didn’t want to be alone in this.  
  
He was terrified he’d fall in just as Jaehwan was falling out.  
  
A sudden series of soft beeps interrupted Sanghyuk’s thoughts and made him jump, heart racing anew. He scrambled in his back pocket for his phone, switching off the alarm he’d set to remind him to start walking back to HQ. His shift tonight wasn’t a long one, thank god. He was very relieved to turn back towards HQ, jogging a bit.  
  
The townhouse was quiet when he was approaching it, which belied the chaos happening inside. Sanghyuk walked into the main floor of HQ to a scene very similar to that of two nights before, dozens of people crowded in, a lot of hushed talking going back and forth. Sanghyuk’s stomach dropped, feeling like his heart was being squeezed. There’d been another attack. But was it another VCF officer, or this time, was it one of their own.   
  
Sanghyuk tiptoed, scanning over the crowd looking for Ilhoon and Sungjae, hoping, praying— and spotted Ilhoon’s bright blonde hair, next to a person with black hair, that when Sanghyuk approached, he saw was Sungjae. Once he was right beside them, he caught sight of a third person, with short brown hair; Hyunsik, looking drawn. He hadn’t been into the office in a while, Sanghyuk wondered what brought him in tonight.  
  
“Oh, Sanghyuk,” Sungjae said, reaching out, and Sanghyuk took his hand, found it trembling a bit. “Thank god.”  
  
Sanghyuk scanned his face, found it pale, then looked to Ilhoon beside him, who also looked shaken. Hyunsik looked exhausted. “What’s happened?” Sanghyuk asked.  
  
“Yixing was attacked, presumably by the same vamp that got the VCF officer a few nights ago,” Ilhoon said softly.   
  
_Attacked_ , Sanghyuk thought. “Is he—”  
  
Ilhoon shook his head, but it was Sungjae who spoke. “He was dead when they found him; drained.”  
  
All the air whooshed out of Sanghyuk, like he’d been punched in the stomach, and he felt his face go pale in a sickly rush. He hadn’t been close to Yixing, not like some of the others, not like Luhan and Minseok and Kris, but he’d known him, saw him nearly nightly, and he’d been a good hunter, a good person. He’d worked a bit with Sanghyuk during training. And now he was gone.   
  
Sanghyuk wet his lips. “Are there— that is— do we have any leads?” he asked shakily. Sungjae was still holding his hand, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze.   
  
“Like I said, they think it’s the same vamp that killed the VCF officer,” Ilhoon murmured. “Kris saw both bodies— he says the method is the same.”  
  
“Draining is pretty much the chosen method of all vamps,” Sanghyuk pointed out, and tried not to think about dying like that, pinned by an unknown creature, slowly drained off your life.   
  
“There’s apparently— more to it than that,” Sungjae whispered. “But Kris won’t say what. I think he doesn’t want to scare us.”   
  
Fat lot of good that would do. There was fear seeped into the walls of HQ currently, sweeping from person to person. Sanghyuk could read it in the eyes of the people around him, in their shaking whispers.   
  
Sanghyuk looked to Hyunsik, who looked very small, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Hyunsik?” Sanghyuk asked. “Did you come when you heard?”  
  
Hyunsik shook his head. “No,” he murmured, “I came to quit.”  
  
Sanghyuk jerked, looking to Ilhoon, whose face was like stone, then to Sungjae, who looked away. “What?”  
  
“I can’t anymore,” Hyunsik said softly, voice trembling. “After what happened to me— I’m afraid, Sanghyuk, and now this— Yixing was a good hunter, very good. He was strong. Whatever is doing this is able to get around our wards somehow, and— I’m just frightened. I have been for a while. I want out.” He looked to Ilhoon, Sungjae, and Sanghyuk. “I wish you three would go with me.”  
  
Sanghyuk flashed back to Ilhoon’s words. _I know Hyunsik wants to quit hunting_ , Ilhoon had said, _I know I’m not going to quit hunting_.  
  
Ilhoon shook his head. “That isn’t in the cards,” he said, smiling weakly at Hyunsik, and Sanghyuk swayed, gripping the edge of a nearby desk to steady himself.   
  
“There’s Kris,” Sungjae said suddenly, looking over Sanghyuk’s shoulder, and Sanghyuk turned to see Kris coming into the room, flanked by Luhan and Minseok. Kris’s eyes were red, and he looked like a man haunted, while beside him Minseok looked like he was made of pale marble, eyes blank, and Luhan had silent tears streaming down his face.   
  
“You’ve all heard by now,” Kris said, voice unusually thick, “I do not want to repeat it. We’ve lost someone, tonight, and— and I’m stricken, but more than that, I’m worried. I’m worried because this thing, this vampire, isn’t simply killing for sustenance, it seems to be targeting us, and it has proven itself to be very dangerous, and we have no leads.” He looked around the room. “We have to keep doing our jobs, just as the VCF do, but for tonight, I want you all to stay until dawn, for pre-caution’s sake.”   
  
Sanghyuk found himself reaching back, blindly, and it was Sungjae who came to his side, tucking himself in against Sanghyuk comfortingly. Out of the corner of Sanghyuk’s eye, he saw Ilhoon rub his hands over his face.   
  
“I’m afraid too,” Sungjae murmured.   
  
Sanghyuk closed his eyes and wondered how much longer he had.  
  
——  
  
Jaehwan took the long way home, wondering if he’d been out of line, telling Sanghyuk he still loved him. But he figured no, it wasn’t like Sanghyuk didn’t know. Surely, he couldn’t think Jaehwan’s feelings had been diluted.  
  
And Sanghyuk— _I can’t love you anymore_. Jaehwan had expected as much, and he hadn’t let himself hope otherwise, but it still weighed heavily on him. He still wished, in heart of hearts, that somehow, Sanghyuk would fall for him.  
  
“And then what?” Jaehwan murmured viciously to himself as he dropped into the tunnels leading to his home. “You’ll get to kiss and fuck a few times before he dies, takes you with him, and then you can be buried side by side? Splendid. The happy ending I always wanted.” The grate slammed shut after him. “I’m such a fool.”  
  
He needed to stop wishing for Sanghyuk’s heart, needed to stop tormenting himself thus. He’d never have it, he’d never feel Sanghyuk’s skin against his again, never taste him on his tongue again. And he needed to make peace with that and maybe— maybe have the sight of Sanghyuk be enough to sate him, the sound of his voice, his presence near Jaehwan. Sanghyuk kept offering _friendship_ and it wasn’t that Jaehwan didn’t want it, it was merely that from Sanghyuk, he wanted _more_. But perhaps he should take him up on it. Better that than nothing at all. And they had so little time left.  
  
He would have sensed it far earlier had he not been preoccupied with his thoughts, but as it was when he walked into his living room he got a slight shock when he was greeted by the sight of his broody brother and nagging wife. Hongbin and Wonshik were nowhere to be seen, so perhaps they were out.   
  
“You should start calling ahead, brother dearest,” Jaehwan said casually, eyes sliding over Taekwoon and lingering, for a beat, on Hakyeon’s pinched face, before he looked to the hallway, intent on breezing right through the room. “That way my children would know when to expect you—”  
  
“We came to see you,” Hakyeon said, his voice ringing through the darkness, and Jaehwan stopped, marginally keeping himself from swearing. “I need to speak to you.”  
  
Jaehwan whirled. Hakyeon was standing nearer Jaehwan, while Taekwoon lingered back, hovering near the sofa. “Again?” Jaehwan asked, acidity dripping off the word. He didn’t care. He didn’t have it in him tonight to take more harm. “Come to tug my stitches off so I can bleed more? And with your bodyguard in tow this time, I imagine this is going to be even more unpleasant—  
  
“I wanted to apologize,” Hakyeon said, gritting it out. That stopped Jaehwan short. “I didn’t want to make you suffer, Jaehwan, but I don’t want Sanghyuk to suffer either, and it’s simply that when it comes down to the two of you— you know who I am going to pick.”  
  
Jaehwan eyed Hakyeon warily, one hand coming up to grasp the opposite arm in a slight defensive gesture. “I do understand, but your meddling is, and always has been, unwelcome, and this particular instance was pointless,” he said. “Sanghyuk is furious with you, and it has changed nothing of our relationship. Despite what you said— he cannot love me, Hakyeon. Perhaps he once could have, and perhaps he still suffers for it, but he will heal, because in the now, he is free of it. Whether I change or not doesn’t matter. The ship has sailed. And I am trying to come to terms with it. So please do not torment me with false hope.”  
  
Taekwoon was staring at the back of Hakyeon’s head, while Hakyeon’s gaze was settled on Jaehwan, a scowl wrinkling his brow. The corners of his mouth were tight. “False hope,” Hakyeon echoed.  
  
“Indeed,” Jaehwan said, cocking his head to the side. “When you spoke to me— you asked if I could change, if I could be the person he almost fell in love with, but without the sharpness that drove him away. It’s most curious, but one might have thought you were implying— implying hope, that he and I could be together, could work against all the odds.” Jaehwan sighed, the sound fluttering out of him. “I don’t know your game, Hakyeon, but— we can’t. He’s told me that he cannot love me, and even if he could—”  
  
Jaehwan cut himself off, because he couldn’t tell Sanghyuk’s secret. _Even if he could, he’s going to be dead before I can change into someone worth him loving. If I even am able to._  
  
“Even if he could?” Hakyeon prompted, and Jaehwan should have known he wouldn’t drop it.   
  
“Even if he could, he is not so foolish,” Jaehwan murmured, smiling thinly. “He is much smarter than you give him credit for, Hakyeon.”  
  
“He is, but he is also young, and we don’t always have control of these things,” Hakyeon said, glancing behind himself, at Taekwoon, and Jaehwan sighed again.   
  
“We are not you and Taekwoon, Hakyeon,” Jaehwan said, remembering Sanghyuk had said just that. “And I accept your apology, by the way. But you need to apologize to Sanghyuk too. You need to set things right with him.”  
  
“Sanghyuk will forgive me in a few weeks,” Hakyeon said, smiling a little, fondly, softly. “He always does.”  
  
 _Yes_ , Jaehwan thought, feeling sadness sweep through him, _but waiting is a dangerous game, when we’re so close to the finish line_.   
  
Jaehwan nodded shortly, and said, “Perhaps. But still, you should set things right.” That was all the advice he could give without saying more, and as it was Taekwoon was frowning slightly, noticing something off. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have something I need to look into. Please feel free to wait for my darling children to return, if you want. They shouldn’t be out long.”  
  
Thankfully, thankfully, Hakyeon said nothing more and Taekwoon made no move to stop him, so he flit down the hallway to his room, shutting the door behind himself and breathing out a sigh of relief. After a moment, he slid the lock for good measure.  
  
He strode with purpose to his dresser, opening a drawer and pulling out a sizeable wooden box. The box itself wasn’t important, it was the spell laid on it that made it special. Jaehwan took it out of the drawer and brought it to his bed, setting it down. There was a latch but no lock, and Jaehwan flipped it open and raised the lid.   
  
Stuffed into the box was a pale grey hoodie, worn and frayed at the edges, small holes poking through the fabric. Jaehwan carefully picked it up, like it was fragile and infinitely valuable, and buried his face in the fabric. It smelled thickly of Sanghyuk, of his soap and shampoo and fabric softener and skin. The box had a stasis spell on it, which kept the hoodie frozen in time, making the smell linger.   
  
Jaehwan, truly, had returned everything Sanghyuk had accidentally left at his apartment. This, on the other hand, had been something Jaehwan had lifted out of Sanghyuk’s hamper, many months ago. It had been an invasive, creepy, and gross thing to do. He’d known it then, and he knew it now. But here he was, with his face buried in a stolen, dirty hoodie. This was what he’d been reduced to.   
  
He would return it. Tomorrow night, for dawn was coming soon. Maybe Hakyeon was content for Sanghyuk to come around on his own, but Jaehwan knew they didn’t have the luxury of time. So he would go himself. The hoodie gave him an excellent additional excuse, and would also get it off his chest.  
  
But for now—  
  
Jaehwan closed the box, without replacing the hoodie, and moved it back into the drawer, empty. After a beat of hesitation, he undid the buttons of his shirt, shrugging it off, and then pulled the hoodie on over his head. It was quite overlarge, no doubt meant for sleep, which was exactly what Jaehwan was going to do in it. The smell of Sanghyuk surrounded him, a painful comfort.   
  
He tugged the hood up, and then climbed into bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Sanghyuk found sleep hard to come by, and woke well before sundown, far closer to noon than he’d have preferred considering he’d gone to bed after dawn. Predictably, he’d dreamt of Jaehwan’s visit the night before, of Jaehwan admitting he was still just as love with Sanghyuk as he’d been. Possibly more so.  
  
And when those dreams faded off he dreamt of bloody alleyways and fangs crushing his throat.  
  
He laid in bed, staring at his ceiling, a familiar pastime at this point, before finally gathering the gumption to get up, eat, shower. He had tonight off, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. There were too many thoughts in his mind at the moment, worry for his friends, for himself, for Jaehwan. But at the same time, he didn’t want to be outside in the open right now either, not without the sunlight to protect him.  
  
It was too early to drink, but he pulled the bottle of vodka out of his fridge, undid the cap, and took a swig. It tasted like battery acid and burned all the way down. He put it back after that, hoping it would soothe his nerves a bit, help his shaking.   
  
There were some reports he’d been procrastinating on, had brought home to work on, so he decided to do that to kill time. It was going to be a long night.  
  
He spread the work out on his living room floor and sat beside it cross-legged, writing on his coffee table. The light shifted as the hours passed, and when the room began to become pink tinged Sanghyuk closed his blinds, so he wouldn’t have to watch the sky grow black.   
  
He made the mistake of resting his arm on the little table, putting his chin on it as he worked. Midway through a report he dozed off, lightly, aware it was happening, but he was so exhausted that he just let sleep claim him, intent on resting just for a short time.   
  
His wards were itchy, prickling at him, and he didn’t like it, made anxiety stab through his gut. He raised his head, bleary, slow, and found Jaehwan sitting on his couch, watching him with a soft expression on his face.  
  
His heart skipped a beat, and he gasped, jerking. “Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said. “How did you—”  
  
“Through the window,” Jaehwan said, and Sanghyuk knew without turning that the window was wide open, and that didn’t seem right, but it also didn’t seem to matter. “I wanted to talk to you.”  
  
Sanghyuk was weirdly very aware that he was sitting on the floor, and Jaehwan was on the sofa, oddly seeming to hover above him. “Talk about what?”   
  
“The two of us,” Jaehwan said, sliding down so he was kneeling on the floor beside Sanghyuk, who tipped back, trying to put space between them. “Sanghyuk, you can’t do this anymore.”  
  
Sanghyuk swallowed thickly, and was very conscious of the way Jaehwan’s eyes dropped to his throat for a moment. “Do what?”  
  
Jaehwan came forward, bracing his hand on the floor very near Sanghyuk’s person, and Sanghyuk’s breath hitched. “Are you really going to die without kissing me one last time?”  
  
Now it was Sanghyuk’s gaze that dropped, to Jaehwan’s lips, and oh, he wanted. “We— I— I can’t, Jaehwan,” he said. “I’m afraid.”  
  
“I know I’ve said in the past, promised, that I wouldn’t hurt you,” Jaehwan said, voice dropping huskily. “I know I broke that promise. But Sanghyuk— you know at this point I would rather suffer silver than harm you again, in any way. And you’re going to be gone soon. What do you have to lose at this point?”  
  
Silver. Sanghyuk’s wards were _burning_. “My heart,” he said, voice trembling.  
  
“Oh, Sanghyuk,” Jaehwan whispered. “It’s already mine.”  
  
 _No_. Sanghyuk jerked back, and Jaehwan looked so sad and so soft and so, so very human. “No,” he said aloud, this time. “Please—” He scooted away, scrambling to his feet, finding the open window already at his back. It was night outside, the street dark, too dark. The streetlamps were out.   
  
“Sanghyuk—” Jaehwan said, voice urgent, eyes wide as they darted to stare at something over Sanghyuk’s shoulder.   
  
Sanghyuk didn’t see the hands come out of the darkness, but he knew they were there a split second before they closed around him, yanking him backwards, away from the light and warmth of his home and into cold darkness.  
  
He gave a short scream, his head slipping off the coffee table and sending him tumbling to the thinly carpeted floor with a moderate _thunk_. The pain barely registered, he was too busy looking frantically around the room, heart pounding. Jaehwan was gone. Jaehwan had never been here.   
  
Sanghyuk looked to the window. It was closed, blinds shut tight, but even through them, Sanghyuk could see the faint yellowish light of the streetlamps. A dream. It had all been a dream.  
  
The thought might have given him comfort, except for the fact that his tattoos were actually burning, the house wards rippling at him in warning. The realization that he hadn’t simply dreamed that made his already racing heart go even faster, and he felt nauseated with fear for a moment.  
  
 _It’s probably just Wonshik_ , Sanghyuk thought, trying to fight through the vestiges of grogginess and berating himself for being ridiculous. _Or one of the other four fucking vampires you know. Get it together, Sanghyuk_.  
  
The knock came from his front door, and Sanghyuk stood shakily to answer it. As he passed through the kitchen his eyes scanned over the clock and— christ, he’d been out five hours. No wonder he felt out of sorts. His tattoos were so agitated, and he was on edge enough that he decided to check through the peephole before opening the door. Though if a vampire really wanted to get at him, they wouldn’t be stopped by doors. Or walls.  
  
The memory of the dream made him shiver as he stepped up to the door cautiously, peering at his visitor.  
  
Jaehwan was on his doorstep, head on a swivel, and Sanghyuk inhaled sharply, in both relief and dread. Had Sanghyuk’s subconscious fucking summoned him?  
  
“Jaehwan,” he whispered, and Jaehwan’s face snapped forward. Sanghyuk gasped. He fumbled at the door knob, unlocking it and then tugging the door open. “Jaehwan,” he repeated once it was open, and Jaehwan was blinking up at him. “I— I wasn’t expecting you.”  
  
“Sorry, I just— I found something else of yours,” Jaehwan said, and he held out a ratty grey bundle that Sanghyuk recognized as his old sleep hoodie.  
  
That was not what he had been expecting. He reached out automatically to take it, not even hesitating to put himself outside his house wards. Not with Jaehwan in front of him. The real Jaehwan. “Oh man, I thought the washing machine had eaten this,” he said, hugging it to himself before stilling, a shock running through him. “It— it smells like you.”  
  
Jaehwan was watching him intently. In ways, it mirrored Sanghyuk’s dream, and Sanghyuk worked to put it out of his mind. This Jaehwan wasn’t a dream. This Jaehwan couldn’t see into Sanghyuk’s heart and soul and mind, reading him like the pages of a book. This Jaehwan could only torment him through the relatively ordinary fashion of existing. This Jaehwan bled.  
  
“It has been in my home for a good deal of time,” Jaehwan was saying softly in reply, and Sanghyuk shook himself. Jaehwan looked away then, frowning down at Sanghyuk’s floor, and Sanghyuk exhaled a little in relief. “What, exactly, do I smell like?”  
  
“Roses,” Sanghyuk said immediately, then he brought the hoodie nearer to his face to smell it lightly. Jaehwan’s eyes widened. “Roses and earth and— something kind of electric and sweet, that I just kind of associate with vamps.”  
  
“That’ll be the magic in us, running us,” Jaehwan murmured. Sanghyuk closed his eyes, breathing deeply, letting the scent seep into him. It wasn’t comforting per se, made him feel warm and wretched at the same time. “Sanghyuk,” Jaehwan was saying softly, “Hakyeon apologized to me last night.”  
  
Sanghyuk’s eyes flew open, and he lowered the hoodie away from his face. “He what?”  
  
There was a ghost of a smile on Jaehwan’s face. “He apologized. I told him he owed you one too but— he didn’t seem like he was rushing over to give you one. So I thought I should tell you myself.”  
  
Sanghyuk blinked, lips parting slightly in awe. “That was— good of him,” Sanghyuk said lamely. He looked at Jaehwan carefully. “And— are you alright?”  
  
“No better nor worse than I was last night,” Jaehwan said simply.   
  
There was a pause then, a lull, and Sanghyuk knew he should take this moment to thank Jaehwan, bid him good night. That would be the smart thing, the safe thing. The dream was still too fresh, and Sanghyuk was still too raw.   
  
But when did Sanghyuk ever do the smart or safe thing.  
  
“I think— if you’re not busy—” Sanghyuk began, and Jaehwan looked at him with eyes that shone through with a hope that made Sanghyuk stutter, but not stop, “would you like to come in and chat?”  
  
Jaehwan seemed to have been robbed of speech, but he nodded, and when he stepped forward, Sanghyuk stepped back so he could come in. He closed the door behind Jaehwan, wondering why he was putting himself through this. Perhaps he needed something to ground him, a real memory to wipe away the dream.   
  
Jaehwan did not have Sanghyuk’s heart. No matter what Sanghyuk’s subconscious was saying. Their reality was, and always had been, different that what Sanghyuk dreamt.  
  
“Do you,” Jaehwan began, then stopped to wet his lips nervously. Sanghyuk hoped it hadn’t been obvious, the way he’d followed the movement. “Do you want to talk about— what you brought up a few nights ago. Your own— issues? It’d be only fair, like you said, you had to help me through mine, I should be here for yours.”  
  
Sanghyuk’s stomach dropped a little, genuinely caught off guard by that. It hadn’t occurred to him at all. “No,” he said, fidgeting with the hoodie a little. “No, I just— I kind of want to pretend we’re both not broken, just for a little while. Can we talk about something else?” He didn’t know what, hadn’t thought this through. It was a test, of some sort. A test of him. A test of Jaehwan.   
  
Jaehwan, for his part, walked past Sanghyuk, tentatively going through the kitchen and into the living room. He was like an animal in a new environment, going nose first and moving cautiously. “Like what?” he asked between light sniffs of the air.  
  
“You’re only going to pick up on dirty socks,” Sanghyuk said, moving into the living room himself and promptly sitting on one end of the couch.   
  
“Mm,” Jaehwan said, like he agreed, and he laughed when Sanghyuk glared at him. “You didn’t answer my question.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sanghyuk said in exasperation, and finally, Jaehwan sat on the other end of the couch, apparently having sniffed out all the dirty socks. “I’d—” Oh, he felt like a fucking fool all of a sudden. “Two years ago you’d tell me little tidbits, about your artifacts, or your life, and you were always— it was interesting and you always seemed happy, talking about them.”  
  
“I do enjoy talking of myself, yes,” Jaehwan said, picking imaginary lint off himself in affectation.  
  
“Can you tell me about your human life?” Sanghyuk asked, hoping this wasn’t crossing some line, bringing them into painful territory. “I’ve always wanted to know.”  
  
Jaehwan stopped picking lint off his trousers, looking a little somber all of a sudden. “What have you always wanted to know?” he asked, voice intense and soft, and Sanghyuk had to fight not to shiver.  
  
“Whatever you remember,” Sanghyuk said, and for some reason, that made Jaehwan smile, a little. Talking about history could be a good grounding, for Sanghyuk. He had always had such an interest in history as a child, something that was still so present, even if he didn’t have much of a chance to stoke the flames. “You were born so long ago— what was it like? How was it different from today? Did you have horses, did you ride in a _carriage_ —”  
  
Jaehwan laughed, and it made his eyes twinkle. It seemed— real. “One at a time.”  
  
“How many girls’ hearts did you break, please round it to the nearest ten,” Sanghyuk said, heart pounding at the sight of that smile, and that just made Jaehwan laugh even more.   
  
“As if I could count that,” Jaehwan said, still smiling, and Sanghyuk found himself smiling too. “You know I was nobility, so yes, my family did have horses,” Jaehwan continued, voice slightly absent, like he was lost in his memories. “I had a basset hound, too. My parents bought him for my oldest brother before I was born, but he took to me quite well. He passed away before I turned, but when I was a child, he was a very helpful companion when I would steal peaches from a neighbouring farm.”   
  
Sanghyuk laughed. “I’m not surprised you did something like that.”   
  
“No, I imagine not,” Jaehwan said. “It does seem like the kind of thing I would do. It was not as though my family couldn’t afford to buy peaches, but— I don’t know. I did not like being moderated, but also I think I simply liked the thrill of it. And contraband peaches taste better, if you were wondering.”  
  
Sanghyuk could see it, a younger Jaehwan, a child Jaehwan, running and playing in green fields, a lumbering hound at his heels, surrounded by a family who, by all accounts, had loved and cared for him. It made everything that had come afterwards so much sadder.   
  
“But your family had horses?” Sanghyuk prompted. Jaehwan nodded. “Can you ride?”   
  
“I was capable of riding them, of course. I had lessons from when I was a child but horses never liked me much. We never really clicked.”  
  
“I’m not sure anyone really clicks with horses.”   
  
Jaehwan waggled a finger in Sanghyuk’s face. Sanghyuk rolled his eyes and shifted, bringing his knees up underneath himself so that he was kneeling on the couch. Jaehwan settled back, a slight smile on his face. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen my oldest brother with them. Sometimes people have just a way with horses. I never did. Perhaps they could sense my blackened heart.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Sanghyuk agreed.   
  
Jaehwan shot him a glare that was mostly fake. “I found horses to be smelly creatures, and I avoided them where I could. But my parents wanted us to be able to ride them, it was part of life back then, dreadfully inconvenient, but even more so if you couldn’t ride— and yes,” he added, seeing Sanghyuk open his mouth, “we did have a carriage. But it was usually only used for special occasions. We used it for going to parties or balls in the neighbourhood. Never for simple social visits.”   
  
“This is fascinating,” Sanghyuk murmured, not being sarcastic at all. The idea of Jaehwan prancing about on a horse and wearing a cravat was, indeed, fascinating to say the least.  
  
“A horse kicked me in the head once,” Jaehwan said, almost absently, though the grin he shot Sanghyuk when Sanghyuk jerked meant that he knew exactly what he was saying. “That’s how much horses disliked me.”   
  
“A horse kicked you in the head?” Sanghyuk asked, voice somewhat strangled. His eyes scanned Jaehwan’s head, but of course there was no scar to be found. Jaehwan seemed to realise what he was looking for because he reached up and touched the the top of his head, just past his parting.   
  
“It was mostly my own fault,” he said, and Sanghyuk rolled his eyes, because he’d have figured that one out on his own. “I was twelve, I think. I was in the stables, playing around with a couple of the stable boys. They were about my age, young but old enough to be working back then. I believe they got into horrible trouble after what happened. I’m not sure I ever saw them again, now that I think about it. It should not have surprised me if my parents sacked some poor children for something that was entirely my fault.”   
  
“What did you do?”   
  
“I was rattling the door to one of the stables to make the creature jumpy. The stable boys were trying to saddle her up for me so I could go riding and I thought it was the most hilarious joke. I suspect that they did not. Then I reached over and grabbed it by the tail and— well. It kicked me, on the top of my head. I’d had head injuries before— just a year prior on a grand peach heist, in fact, I fell in a creek and hit my head.” He touched a spot along his hairline. “There’s still a very faint scar here from that—”  
  
“I know,” Sanghyuk said, before he could stop himself. “I noticed it a long time ago.” Noticed it when he stayed the night, once, Jaehwan laying sleeping beside him. It was a very faint white line, disturbing Jaehwan’s hairline only a fraction. He’d wondered what it had been caused by. Now he knew. A grand peach heist.   
  
Jaehwan stuttered a little, lowering his hand. “Yes,” he said, seeming a bit wrong footed. Then he cleared his throat, pulling his composure back up. Sanghyuk wondered what he’d been thinking of. “Well, there’d been that incident, and others before it. I was a reckless child. But this was different. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but I was unconscious for two days after it happened, there was talk of my possibly dying. And all because I was a particular kind of brat.”   
  
He gave Sanghyuk a soft, sweet smile, one that was self-deprecating and sad but not self-pitying. Maybe he shouldn’t, but Sanghyuk liked that smile. But he liked the one that was untainted more.  
  
“Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said, “when did you learn you could do magic?”  
  
Jaehwan’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t flinch away. “Soon after that, actually,” he said, still smiling that sad, sweet smile. “Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t why I didn’t die in childhood, if it didn’t save me.”  
  
“How did you find out?” Sanghyuk asked, since Jaehwan seemed open to the topic. “I once asked Kyungsoo how he figured it out, and he said he set the curtains in his school principal’s office on fire. Presumably with his mind and not, you know, a lighter,” Sanghyuk added, and Jaehwan laughed, the sadness falling away. “Was yours as exciting? Were peaches involved?”  
  
“Do not tease me about my short career as a peach thief,” Jaehwan said, still giggling, before he grew a little more serious, though the smile lingered around the corners of his mouth. He had such pretty lips. And his smile was slightly crooked. “It was spring,” he began, slowly, like he had to work to remember, “it was spring and there was a contest, my mother was participating. Once a year all the ladies in the county would gather a rose from their gardens and present them in a show, and the lady with the prettiest rose won— something. There was a prize, I am sure, but the only reason anyone entered was for bragging rights.” Jaehwan rolled his eyes at Sanghyuk. “But my mother got very into it, and she’d take me through the gardens with her, letting me help her pick out the best rose. And chase out the grasshoppers that would munch on them.”  
  
“Did you set a grasshopper on fire?” Sanghyuk asked, feeling like there had to be some pandemonium _somewhere_ in this.  
  
Jaehwan sniffed haughtily. “I did not,” he said, “now stop interrupting or I shan’t tell you the rest.”   
  
“Fine,” Sanghyuk grumbled, subsiding, and for a flash, Jaehwan’s smile widened again and Sanghyuk’s stomach did a flip-flop.  
  
It took a few moments for Jaehwan to remember where he’d been, and he spent another few moments lost in thought. Sanghyuk watched him, taking in his face, the curve of his jawline, fullness of his mouth, in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to in a long time. It was amazing, how— how he looked utterly unchanged. The same as he did, two years ago.   
  
“I— we had a late frost that year,” Jaehwan murmured when he finally started up again, too lost in thought apparently to have noticed Sanghyuk’s staring, “so things were slower to bloom. I just— I remember my mother touching a bud, and saying that she’d wished it could have bloomed in time. I followed her, touching it as well—” The fingers of his right hand twitched. “And I asked it to bloom, and it did.”   
  
Sanghyuk had stopped breathing as he listened. “What did it look like?”  
  
Jaehwan looked down at his lap, lashes fanning prettily against the paleness of his cheeks, and smiled, a little secret smile to himself. “It won the contest.”  
  
That was it, there, the smile, the Jaehwan, that was holding Sanghyuk prisoner, the Jaehwan that haunted Sanghyuk’s dreams. But he wasn’t dreaming now, this Jaehwan was _real_ , so real, and Sanghyuk could feel his warmth—  
  
All of a sudden, Sanghyuk realized he was leaning over, closing in on Jaehwan’s personal space, and he jolted backwards, almost hard enough to tumble off the couch. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he brought up a hand to press over it, willing it to slow down.   
  
Jaehwan blinked at him. It was impossible that he would have missed the racing heart, but he seemed to have not noticed Sanghyuk’s body betraying him. The smile was dropping off his face a little. It made Sanghyuk ache to see it go. He wanted more of that Jaehwan, like a craving. This Jaehwan, who was changing so rapidly, who hadn’t called Sanghyuk love in weeks, who hadn’t shown his fangs in almost longer than Sanghyuk could remember.   
  
Sanghyuk almost wanted to see them again. _Kiss me one last time_.   
  
He could feel himself flushing, the blood high on his cheeks. “Why are you blushing?” Jaehwan asked. “Is it something I said? I haven’t told that story to Wonshik yet, and if there is something weird about it—”  
  
“No,” Sanghyuk interrupted quickly, thanking every god that Jaehwan didn’t possess the abilities of his dream counterpart. “That’s not it, I just remembered something that—” He paused, Jaehwan’s words sinking in, and he narrowed his eyes a little at him, not in suspicion but maybe a bit. “You’ve spoken to Wonshik about your human life?”   
  
Jaehwan smiled again, a real smile, one that made him look young and beautiful. “Just a little. He and Hongbin are often amused by my mortal antics.”   
  
Christ. Sanghyuk’s heart fucking skipped a beat, like he was stuck in some shitty romantic comedy movie, and he seriously couldn’t do this. He couldn’t look at Jaehwan smiling at him like that and think straight at the same time. “You should go,” he said, his mouth feeling useless and numb. Jaehwan’s smile faltered. “Dawn will be soon, you shouldn’t— it wouldn’t—”  
  
“Ah yes,” Jaehwan said, smoothly getting to his feet. “I must return to my crypt of wonders.”   
  
The dry wit was a comfort, familiar, but it lacked the usual sharp edges Sanghyuk was accustomed to. He didn’t know what to do with it, couldn’t reply in kind. He couldn’t even stand, finding he was too shaken.   
  
“Be safe going home,” Sanghyuk found himself saying, and Jaehwan got the oddest look on his face.  
  
“I am the vampire, remember? You are the human,” Jaehwan said, eyes roving over Sanghyuk’s face for a moment. “Get some sleep, Sanghyuk. You look so worn and it hurts.”  
  
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Sanghyuk said, smiling thinly.   
  
Jaehwan stared down at him. “I wish I still had my magic,” he whispered. “I wish I could fix you, could make you bloom under my fingertips, bring the color back to your face, the light in your eyes.”  
  
Again, the fingers of Jaehwan’s right hand twitched, and Sanghyuk held his breath. _Touch me_ , he thought, every piece of him aching for it. _Please please please_ —  
  
There was a loud noise, an abrasive hum, and both Sanghyuk and Jaehwan jumped. It was just Sanghyuk’s phone, vibrating on the coffee table because he’d received a message. Sanghyuk caught sight of the sender — Ilhoon — and swallowed thickly, remembering where he was, who he was. The realities outside of this moment.  
  
Jaehwan was stepping back, face twisting. “I’ll go,” he said. “Thank you, Sanghyuk, for this. We should talk again, some time.”  
  
Sanghyuk might have replied, with what, he wasn’t sure, but Jaehwan was already gone. Blasted vampires. Unlike with Hakyeon, Sanghyuk almost didn’t even hear the door move.  
  
His phone buzzed again, and he leaned forward to swipe it off the coffee table, reading the messages.  
  
 _There’s been another attack_ , the first message read, and Sanghyuk felt like someone had gripped his heart with an icy fist. _Not one of us_ , the second message read, and Sanghyuk slumped, _another VCF officer. Drained._  
  
Sanghyuk put his phone down on the sofa beside him, so it wouldn’t make such a jarring noise if Ilhoon messaged again. He rubbed at his face, finding his hands were trembling. He felt remarkably close to tears.   
  
The hoodie, his hoodie, was tucked against the corner of the couch, and Sanghyuk dragged it to him, held it to his chest. It smelled of roses, of Jaehwan.  
  
That smell was a part of Sanghyuk, rooted deep inside of him. It brought him back, to long lazy nights in Jaehwan’s bed, running fingertips over Jaehwan’s skin, feverish and smooth, tingling against his skin. Brought him back to Jaehwan in his arms, Sanghyuk in Jaehwan’s arms, moments where they were so entwined Sanghyuk couldn’t tell where he ended and Jaehwan began. Brought him back to nuzzling against that spot behind Jaehwan’s ear, his hair tickling Sanghyuk’s face.   
  
It brought him back to kissing Jaehwan, his lips so soft even though he looked like he’d be made of marble. He tasted nothing like he smelled. Flowers, roses, and the richness of damp earth, that was what Jaehwan smelled like. But he tasted like blood, coppery and thick.   
  
Sanghyuk laughed, suddenly. Jaehwan was, quite literally, the personification of a grave. Earth, flowers, and blood.   
  
He leaned back, laying down on the couch, bringing the hoodie up to his face, inhaling so deeply he felt his lungs might burst, and prayed to whatever God there was to have mercy on him before he died.  
  
——  
  
Jaehwan knew he shouldn’t, but he stayed outside Sanghyuk’s apartment door, back pressed to the wall, just for a moment, just to steady himself. That encounter had been— agony, glorious agony, joyous and exhilarating and yet also devastating and exhausting. There’d been a moment, where Sanghyuk seemed to be asking Jaehwan to reach out to him, to touch, but Jaehwan knew he was just projecting his own desperate desires. He wanted to touch Sanghyuk so badly that resisting felt like trying to go against gravity.  
  
In the aftermath he felt his pieces coming apart, so he needed to pause and compose himself. But it meant that he heard, from within the apartment, when Sanghyuk began to weep softly.   
  
_My love_ , he thought, those soft sounds undoing him more than even his own pain could, _I’m so sorry_.  
  
This was Jaehwan’s fault. He didn’t know how, he just knew that it was. Just like Sanghyuk’s death was going to be his fault. Sanghyuk was too young to bear such a burden, too young for death to be haunting his thoughts.   
  
Jaehwan had brought this upon him. Sometimes, he wondered— he’d lived as an Elimia, true, but not the better kind, not like Taekwoon. He’d gathered his own recoil through the years. That manifested itself in different ways, for different people. Most times it leaked slowly into everyday life, and for someone like Jaehwan that would mean he’d steadily have more and more trouble bearing light, more and more trouble moving, the recoil weighing him down steadily like an actual ball and chain. But in rare cases, recoil would manifest itself largely, in one event. And even though he tried not to, sometimes Jaehwan wondered if this was his one event, if this was the recoil. If Sanghyuk was going to die as punishment to Jaehwan, for his sins.  
  
And there was nothing Jaehwan could do at this point. That was the worst of it, as he stood in this dimly lit hallway, listening to Sanghyuk cry softly, and there was nothing to be done.


	3. Chapter 3

Sanghyuk’s wards wouldn’t stop tingling. It was, he knew, because he’d been on edge since that dream, the tattoos were feeding off his unease. But in turn they were making him _more_ uneasy, the back of his neck prickling.   
  
“Sanghyuk,” Sungjae said, and Sanghyuk snapped around to look at him; he’d been staring into a darkened alley, looking for movement. “You tuned out there.”  
  
“I’m being vigilant, as Kris told us to be,” Sanghyuk said, shoving his hands further into his coat pockets. Part of him was glad to not be on patrol alone; Sungjae often made it difficult for Sanghyuk to stay lost in his own thoughts, but at the same time— “Why did Ilhoon call out?”  
  
“He wanted to stay with Hyunsik, tonight,” Sungjae said. His breath was white as he spoke. “Him quitting has kind of left them both wrong footed.”  
  
“And you didn’t want to stay with them?” Sanghyuk asked, giving Sungjae a knowing glance that Sungjae determinately avoided looking at.  
  
“I thought they deserved a night alone,” he said stoutly and Sanghyuk grunted.  
  
“I know you stayed because you knew they’d partner me with you,” Sanghyuk said. “I appreciate the sentiment, Sungjae, but Ilhoon is going to come back some time. And then I’ll be back out alone.”  
  
“You should partner with us for a time. You’re so stubborn,” Sungjae said. He led them around a corner, down a new, empty street. It was too cold and had been dark for too long, no one was wandering around. “With the recent attacks— it’s going to be one of us tonight. If the pattern holds.”  
  
“You’re going to protect me?” Sanghyuk asked, smiling a little, but Sungjae was serious.   
  
“Yes,” Sungjae said simply. “If I can.”  
  
Sanghyuk was somewhat touched, and he knew his face was a bit surprised. Sungjae— he was a good friend, Sanghyuk wasn’t entirely sure he deserved him. He’d done too much lying to Sungjae, to hide all the blood on his hands.   
  
But he couldn’t tell him any of it either, not about Hakyeon nor Jaehwan, and certainly not about Ilhoon’s prediction. Sanghyuk knew Sungjae would have to deal with that soon enough, when it came to pass, but Sanghyuk didn’t want to hurt him preemptively. He’d had to endure Jaehwan’s pain, and though he didn’t think Sungjae loved him as much as Jaehwan did, he definitely cared about him enough.  
  
“I wish you’d tell me what you’re thinking about, when you get that look on your face,” Sungjae said, and there was pain in his eyes. “You always look so sad.”  
  
Sanghyuk scuffed his feet against the pavement. “Let me protect you too, Jae.”  
  
Sungjae’s face twisted. “Sanghyuk—” He began but broke off, shoulders tensing. “Company,” he murmured.  
  
Sanghyuk had felt the ripple along his wards, the warmth of the sunburst on his back, but he hadn’t been sure it was an actual threat this time. The fact that Sungjae felt it too meant it was.   
  
He let himself feel, casting his senses out, and rather thought the vamp was behind them. His trembling had begun again in earnest, but he made himself slow his walk a little, not enough to be obvious but enough that Sungjae pulled ahead of him a bit. It made a prettier target; easy to snatch the person lagging behind without being noticed. By the time the other person turned around, their companion had already been spirited away.  
  
 _Breathe_ , Sanghyuk reminded himself, _keep calm_. He’d done this so many times before, but in this moment all he could think of was Yixing, zipped up in a black body bag, of Luhan’s tears. Would Sungjae cry, when Sanghyuk was dead, or would he be like Minseok, cold stone.   
  
Would Jaehwan cry, or had he wept all his tears out already.  
  
Sanghyuk felt something inside him snap, and the panic bubbled up, toxic and potent, making him stutter to a stop. “Sungjae,” he gasped, but his sunburst felt hot as a true flame, and it was too late.  
  
Hands, hands reaching out of the darkness, seizing Sanghyuk from behind, and Sanghyuk screamed, the energy of his wards shocking out of him with a much sharper jolt than usual, possibly fueled by his panic. The vampire made a small noise, and then was falling away, letting him go, and Sanghyuk positively leapt away, feeling bile rise in his throat.   
  
He caught sight of the whites of Sungjae’s eyes, the vampire on its knees, holding its hands to its chest in the aftermath of pain from Sanghyuk’s wards. Then he was on the concrete, legs too weak to hold him up when Sungjae pushed past him roughly. He moved very quickly, precise in a way he hadn’t been, all those months ago, when they’d split in their partnership.   
  
It took only a blink, but then Sungjae’s knife was buried into the vampire’s chest, and it was dead. Properly dead.  
  
Sanghyuk stared down at the body, feeling out of time. The scene was in front of his eyes, but he couldn’t process it.  
  
“Did you just freeze?” Sungjae asked, panting. He looked shaken. When Sanghyuk didn’t respond, Sungjae kneeled beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Sanghyuk.”  
  
A tear rolled down Sanghyuk’s cheek. He hadn’t even been aware of his eyes filling up. “I’m cracking up,” he said.   
  
“No, no you’re not,” Sungjae said, taking Sanghyuk’s face in his hands so Sanghyuk would look him in the eyes, instead of staring blankly at the vampire’s corpse. “You froze, it happens, we’re all on edge, we’re all— we’re all afraid, Sanghyuk.” Sanghyuk didn’t reply, couldn’t reply. He was overcome with the need to see Jaehwan, but that would be too cruel, too selfish, so barring that, to see Wonshik or Hakyeon. His makeshift family, who had been hunters, who had died, who would understand.  
  
Sungjae was tugging Sanghyuk up, hands gentle but insistent, and Sanghyuk let himself be moved, dragged, down street after street, until they were back at HQ. He hardly remembered the journey.   
  
“We have to tell someone about this,” Sungjae was saying, as he tried to shove Sanghyuk into a chair, but his words made Sanghyuk come back to himself, a bit.  
  
“They’ll make me pair up with someone,” he said, and it was clear from Sungjae’s face he thought that was a perfectly grand outcome. “I can’t.”  
  
“I just saved your life, because you froze,” Sungjae said, snapping it out, angry because he was afraid. Sanghyuk had scared him. “If you need a partner until this— this vamp is gone, then so be it.”  
  
Sanghyuk leaned against the edge of the nearest desk. “That wasn’t it, was it?” he whispered. “That was an ordinary vamp.”  
  
“Probably, yeah,” Sungjae murmured. He looked around, and Sanghyuk took a moment to as well. HQ had a few people milling around, but it was clear nothing had happened tonight. Thus far there’d been no attack, then.  
  
Sanghyuk felt like he was going to be sick all over again. “I need to go,” he said. “You can tell whoever you need to about this, file the report, I’ll corroborate. But right now I need to go.”  
  
“You can’t,” Sungjae said, grabbing Sanghyuk’s arm when he made to push past him. “New rule remember? When shifts are over you stay til dawn.”  
  
Sanghyuk hadn’t forgotten. But he could not wait until dawn, when those he needed to see were only awake in the dark. “I have to go, I— I need to talk to someone.”  
  
“Talk to me,” Sungjae said, and his voice cracked with emotion. “Sanghyuk—”  
  
Sanghyuk shook his head. “Stay here,” he rasped. He met Sungjae’s eyes, full of concern and hurt and love. “Stay here, stay safe.”  
  
Sungjae watched him walk away, walk out of HQ, didn’t stop or follow him.   
  
He’d parked very close, thankfully, but he was too on edge, and the walk felt like it took an eternity. The drive was worse. The entire way there Sanghyuk had his senses cast out for the tiniest disturbance. His car didn’t have nearly the same amount of warding on it as a VCF patrol car.   
  
The tenseness in him eased when he was nearer Jaehwan’s house, for he knew other vamps were very unlikely to cross into an Elimia’s territory. He never thought he would welcome the dark, dankness of the tunnels leading to Jaehwan’s house, but tonight, he did. It felt like safety, just as sunlight did.  
  
The front door was unlocked as usual, and it opened at Sanghyuk’s touch. He found his fingertips were still trembling. “Hello?” he called into the house, his voice coming out weak, swallowed easily by the darkness.  
  
“Sanghyuk?” came the reply, Wonshik’s deep voice stronger than his, and Sanghyuk shivered out a breath and stepped further into the house.  
  
All three of the house’s residents were gathered in the living room. Hongbin was wedged in the corner of the couch, laptop sitting on his thighs, and Wonshik was in the opposite corner, playing with his gameboy. On the plush leather armchair Jaehwan sat cross-legged, reading a yellowed paperback. All three of them looked up at Sanghyuk when he came in, and it was unnerving, that snap of attention all on him at once, and yet the sight of them soothed him like a balm. Despite their vampirism, he felt a connection with them he didn’t feel with his human friends, a kindred sort of spirit.   
  
Jaehwan slowly closed his book, and Wonshik sat up from his slouch. Hongbin clicked on something on his laptop and then shut it. It occurred to Sanghyuk that they’d all been sitting around and— relaxing, together, like a unit. The thought warmed him, and yet also made him ache.  
  
“I— sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Sanghyuk mumbled.  
  
Wonshik shook his head but it was Hongbin who spoke. “We weren’t doing anything important.” Hongbin tilted his head. “Are you alright? You’re pale.”  
  
“I was on a hunt,” Sanghyuk said, haltingly, not sure how he was going to explain. Jaehwan was staring at him, razor focused and unmoving.  
  
“Did something happen?” Wonshik asked, voice laced with concern.  
  
Sanghyuk didn’t reply, finding that despite his desire to talk, he was reluctant to admit to the current company that he’d frozen. He didn’t think Wonshik or Hongbin would judge him, but he worried about Jaehwan’s reaction.   
  
Instead of speaking and to stall, he came over to Wonshik’s corner, motioning for him to scoot closer to Hongbin so he could sit, which Wonshik did. This put Sanghyuk near to Jaehwan, within arm’s reach, but Jaehwan was on his right side while both Hongbin and Wonshik were on his left which meant Sanghyuk could turn his body away from Jaehwan, look only at Wonshik and Hongbin. He didn’t know if he could get anything out if he was looking at Jaehwan, aware of Jaehwan’s reactions.  
  
“I was patrolling,” Sanghyuk said, settling back into the corner of the couch, “and I got attacked by a vamp. It’s dead. It was fine, I’m fine, but I just— I was suddenly hit with the realization that one day I won’t be.”  
  
Hongbin and Wonshik looked at one another, and then at Jaehwan, and then back at Sanghyuk. He wondered what they’d seen on Jaehwan’s face.  
  
“Kiddo,” Wonshik began, softly, but Sanghyuk cut him off.  
  
“Just— how did you deal with it?” Sanghyuk asked quietly.  
  
“With what, exactly?” Hongbin whispered.  
  
Sanghyuk looked down into his lap as he spoke. “With knowing that you were going to die soon.”  
  
Again, Wonshik and Hongbin shared a look. This time they were thoughtful. “For me,” Hongbin said slowly, “I handled it by trying to never live life through _afterwards_. I always left the house with no expectations to return. Or at least, I tried to.” His eyes flickered to Wonshik’s face. “Wonshik made it. Difficult. It’s part of why I tried so hard to maintain distance between us. I always felt we had no future, because of what we were.”  
  
Sanghyuk thought of Jaehwan. He wasn’t sure _difficult_ could even cover it.   
  
“And for me that didn’t matter,” Wonshik said softly. “Because while I also sort of operated under the idea that _next time_ might not exist— I used that as a reason to always throw myself into every emotion, every relationship. I might not be able to say I love you, tomorrow, so I’m going to say it now.” He’d reached over so he could twine his fingers with Hongbin’s, who looked away. “But we both knew one day one or both of us wouldn’t come home and had accepted it.”  
  
“You have to, if you want to hunt,” Hongbin said quietly. “One day you're on the field and you realize this isn’t a game. This is going to be where it all ends.”  
  
Sanghyuk vaguely remembered Hakyeon giving him this speech, a long time ago. At the time, it hadn’t sunk in, because Sanghyuk was foolishly young and immortal in his own mind. Things were different now, things were _imminent_ , and Sanghyuk was still trying to accept it all as a reality.  
  
“I’m afraid,” Sanghyuk admitted. “I don’t know what to do.”  
  
There was a beat of silence. “Just live, Sanghyuk,” Wonshik said into the quiet. “You’re— you’ve always burned bright, like Hakyeon did. Just keep burning, keeping living, without restraint or regret, until—” He cut himself off and looked down at his and Hongbin’s intertwined hands, like it gave him comfort.   
  
Sanghyuk swallowed, mouth twisting, and he nodded. Keep burning, keep burning until he was snuffed out, like the flickering of a candle flame. He could do that. He could try.  
  
“I—” Hongbin said in a small voice, seemingly embarrassed. “I haven’t fed tonight.” He looked apologetically at Sanghyuk. “I’m sorry, I know you wanted to talk, but I need to take care of that.”  
  
Sanghyuk felt like some spell had been broken, and Wonshik seemed to shake himself. “Ah, yeah, right, we were going to—”  
  
Hongbin and Wonshik both looked over Sanghyuk’s shoulder, at Jaehwan, but Sanghyuk didn’t, couldn’t.  
  
“I will remain behind,” Jaehwan said, no inflection one way or another. “Sanghyuk still seems shaken.”  
  
Wonshik and Hongbin looked back at Sanghyuk, who nodded but didn’t look at either of them. He knew he had to face Jaehwan at some point, even if it all did feel like too soon. “Yeah, you guys can go, I’ll stay here and— talk with Jaehwan.”  
  
Both Wonshik and Hongbin looked a little unsure about that, but they needed to go, so they got to their feet and moved towards the entrance hall. Before they could leave, something occurred to Sanghyuk.  
  
“Hongbin,” Sanghyuk said, and Hongbin turned curiously, “do you— do you regret how you handled things as a human?” Sanghyuk looked to Wonshik. “Do you, Wonshik?”  
  
Wonshik shook his head and Hongbin said, “Considering we are both now opting to live as Wonshik did then, I think he had the right of things. I— I denied myself so much and really, it was for nothing. I could have had much of what I have now back then, but I shied from it all, because of the impermanence of everything. But really, even if I hadn’t been a hunter, my life still would have been impermanent. There’s— no point, really, living like that, even if you’re operating under the impression every night will be your last.”  
  
Sanghyuk thought back to Jongsuk. A large part of what had driven them apart was Sanghyuk’s inevitably shorter lifespan. Of course, a larger part of the problem had been that Sanghyuk hadn’t loved him, but. He understood Hongbin’s mindset, as a human. How could Hongbin, in good conscience, have made a proper life with Wonshik knowing one day he would die in the field. Or vice versa. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to the people left behind.  
  
A voice in the back of his mind whispered that if it wasn’t fair on Jongsuk, it wouldn’t be fair on Jaehwan either, but Sanghyuk pushed it aside.  
  
“Wonshik lived that way and suffered more, for it, when you were turned,” Sanghyuk murmured, and Hongbin winced.  
  
Wonshik wrapped an arm around Hongbin’s shoulders and said, “Yes, I did, but in the end, it was my choice to make.” He smiled at Sanghyuk, a sad little smile, and Sanghyuk wondered if they ever truly had any choices, in love. “And in the end, kiddo, how you handle your own— impermanence, is all up to you as well. I love you and don’t want you to die with regrets, which is why I— I say just live, you know? Live as if every night is your last, live as if you don’t know it is your last.”  
  
Sanghyuk bit his bottom lip and watched Wonshik and Hongbin leave through stinging eyes. He blinked rapidly and took several deep breaths.  
  
He still hadn’t looked at Jaehwan.  
  
There was the sound of shifting, ever so soft, and then Jaehwan was saying, “Do you wish to talk more about it?” His voice was painfully flat.  
  
Sanghyuk’s face snapped to look at Jaehwan, who was sitting with his legs curled up under him, damn him, hands fisted over his thighs, looking as if he may as well be made of stone.   
  
“Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said hoarsely, “please don’t act like me dying is going to be more of a burden on you than on me who— who is actually going to die.”   
  
Jaehwan’s mouth thinned and he grit his teeth, Sanghyuk could tell because he saw the muscles in Jaehwan’s jaw tense.  
  
“You will be gone, it is us who will have to bury you,” Jaehwan murmured, staring at some point on the far wall. “I wish you would quit hunting.”  
  
Sanghyuk rubbed his palms over his eyes, trying to chase away the whisper of tears. “You know it won’t make a difference.” He felt like the walls were closing in.  
  
“No,” Jaehwan said, voice so forcefully light it sounded painful. “No, I suppose not. You are human, you must all die at some point. Whether you hunt or not won’t alter that.” It was like he was trying to convince _himself_ to come to terms with it.   
  
They sat in silence, Sanghyuk trying to mull it all over, palms pressing against his closed eyes. In most respects, he already did live every day, and night, like it might be his last. He— he almost thought he lived with too much emotion, cared about his friends without restraint, ate the whole damn box of pizza whenever he fancied to. His idea of fulfilled living was, perhaps, just a bit lackluster.   
  
The only area he really held back in was Jaehwan. In that department, he held far back, desperately so. And he was tired.   
  
It wasn’t fair. But life wasn’t fair. And Jaehwan had made his choice. Sanghyuk needed to make his own.  
  
Sanghyuk’s hands dropped from his face and he looked at Jaehwan, who hadn’t moved. For all that Jaehwan seemed to be made of marble, there was something indescribably fragile about him in that moment.   
  
“Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said, needing, before he died, a moment, just one, where he could let himself love Jaehwan the way he was aching to, “I want to hear you play the piano. Please. You keep saying next time or someday but— I can’t live like that.”   
  
Jaehwan didn’t move or reply, just stared at the far wall, like he truly was a statue. Sanghyuk watched him, waited, prayed Jaehwan would give this to him, before he was gone for good.   
  
Perhaps Jaehwan sensed that unspoken part, that this might be a last wish. After a long stillness, he finally moved, turning to stare at Sanghyuk silently, face utterly unreadable. He didn’t speak, in the end, just got shakily to his feet. Sanghyuk blinked up at him, surprised Jaehwan was conceding, surprised this was going to happen _now_. He jerked a little, when Jaehwan, forgetting himself for a moment, held out his hand to Sanghyuk. And for another moment, Sanghyuk forgot himself as well, and almost moved to take it, but then Jaehwan was snatching his hand back and turning away, slightly hunched in on himself.   
  
Sanghyuk let out a shaky sigh and stood, following Jaehwan as he walked to the hallway. Remembering the darkness and cold of the depths of the house, Sanghyuk grabbed a candelabra off the mantlepiece, taking a moment to light the three candles cradled in the holder.  
  
Jaehwan had disappeared, but Sanghyuk knew the general direction he was headed, and eventually found Jaehwan waiting for him down a few halls, like some pale spectre. He looked so fragile, like he was porcelain, or paper. Sanghyuk knew this was unfair, he was pushing Jaehwan out of his comfort zone, maybe before he was ready, bending his arm using the threat of his oncoming death. But Jaehwan was the one person he’d shared this with, the one person who knew this secret, and if Sanghyuk had to face it with every waking moment, then Jaehwan needed to try too. Needed to live now just as much as Sanghyuk did.  
  
And in the now Sanghyuk wanted to hear Jaehwan play, glimpse what he’d been like as a human. And maybe, maybe, what he could be like in the future. The future Sanghyuk wasn’t going to see.   
  
Sanghyuk wished he had more time.   
  
Their footsteps from last time were still visible in the dust on the carpet as they went into the depths of the house. Just the two sets. Jaehwan hadn’t been back here since.  
  
When they reached the door, large and intricately carved with lotus blossoms, Jaehwan just stared at it. Sanghyuk wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what, and the moment passed when Jaehwan reached out with a trembling hand to grasp the knob and push.   
  
The room looked a bit different in the slight light of the candelabra. Jaehwan, like last time, passed the sheet-covered couches and table, making for the piano at the end of the room. If Sanghyuk were alive next week, he’d come back here and peek under all the sheets, look at every detail, but right now he sensed Jaehwan was struggling to stay afloat as it was. He did not want to drown him.   
  
Jaehwan stopped by the piano, a few feet away, like he was afraid of it, skittish. Sanghyuk came to stand by his side and held out the candelabra to him. Jaehwan looked up at him, eyes vulnerable, and when he took the candelabra from Sanghyuk’s hand he took very deliberate care to make sure their fingers did not brush.   
  
With his hands free Sanghyuk walked up to the piano and grasped the stiff white sheet in thick handfuls and yanked it off, letting it go so it could billow to the floor. The candle flames stuttered but then steadied, illuminating all the little dust particles floating in the air as tiny gold sparks.   
  
Jaehwan had taken a step back. “Sanghyuk,” he said, softly, a plea.   
  
“I think you need this, Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk whispered. “I think you need to do this, and I think I need to be here. And we don’t have much longer.”  
  
Jaehwan swallowed thickly, and then he slowly stepped forward, passing Sanghyuk. He put the candelabra down on top of the piano, movements very precise, before he took a deep breath and then sat at the bench.   
  
Sanghyuk came to stand at the side of the piano, folded arms laying atop the polished wood, so he could see Jaehwan’s face. He waited.  
  
Jaehwan touched the key cover lightly, almost reverent, and then he looked up at Sanghyuk. “I— I don’t know what to play. Most of the pieces from when I was human have no singing, or— somewhat loud, abrasive singing.”  
  
Sanghyuk’s heart stuttered. “Can you sing?”  
  
Jaehwan lifted the key cover to reveal the ivory and black keys, shining in the candlelight. He did not touch them, not even lightly. “I can.”  
  
“I’d like to hear that too,” Sanghyuk said, wondering if he was asking for too much, from both Jaehwan and himself.  
  
Jaehwan licked his lips, his hands on his upper thighs. “I can play you something from a little later than my time. I prefer those pieces, the singing is softer.”  
  
“You— you kept up with it? With music, even after—” Sanghyuk asked.   
  
“After I died, yes,” Jaehwan murmured. “I— I kept up with it even after I stopped playing. Just— just listening, looking at sheet notes. I’ve never actually played any of them, and it has been so long—” He cut off, looking pained. “I do not know if I can.”  
  
Sanghyuk didn’t know what to say, what he could say. Jaehwan grit his teeth, mouth setting into a hard line, and he brought his hands up, fingertips settling atop the keys. The light of the candles warmed his skin tone, making him appear ruddy, and almost, almost human.   
  
The first note was high and clear in the silence, and it was followed by Jaehwan exhaling shakily, eyes fluttering closed. Sanghyuk, for his part, felt like he couldn’t breathe, eyes fixed on Jaehwan’s face. Jaehwan hit that same note again, and then a second, a third, before stuttering to a stop again, breathing carefully.   
  
His playing was like that too, for a hard few seconds, slow, careful, picking out the keys as individuals instead of a cohesive whole, no tempo to be seen. Sanghyuk let him, not knowing what this was like for him, how hard it was. Not necessarily to remember how to play, but to remember himself.   
  
“Okay,” Jaehwan whispered, and he sniffled, clearing his throat, and tried again. This time, a melody unfolded underneath his fingertips, one Sanghyuk did not know, but then, he wouldn’t, so unfamiliar with anything outside of his limited timespan. Jaehwan had seen the centuries turn, one after another, and in this moment, Sanghyuk could sense it, could feel it in the air between them, crackling with quivering music notes and magic.   
  
Then Jaehwan drew in breath and began to sing.   
  
It was as tentative as his playing had been at the start, but his voice was sweet and rich, like honey, and it echoed softly around the room, hauntingly coming back. The words weren’t a language Sanghyuk understood, but they bled through with emotion, or maybe that was just Jaehwan, Jaehwan who had lived with an energy that had probably rivalled Hakyeon, blazing through the seasons until his master killed his body, and then the slow, agonizing death of Jaehwan’s heart, mind, and soul afterwards. It was held still in this moment as Jaehwan sang, every blip of time between Jaehwan’s heart beating and now, centuries later, illuminated by gentle candlelight, a condemned human as the only witness.   
  
And Sanghyuk could see. He could see everything, as he watched Jaehwan pour out the heart he claimed he didn’t have through notes that faded into the darkness, like some kind of offering. He could see Jaehwan as a human, playing in sunlight streaming through open windows, joy in his voice instead of pain. He’d never have that again, Sanghyuk knew, not the sunlight nor his heartbeat nor the humanity he’d lost. But he had something else. It was small and fledgling, something Jaehwan had only begun to piece together from the shattered remains of all that he’d been through, but it was there, and it was beautiful.   
  
Sanghyuk found himself gripping the edge of the piano painfully hard, mouth gone dry while his eyes had grown wet. _I’m already in love_ , Sanghyuk thought, and it clicked into place like a shoulder that had been out of joint. _I’m in love with the human he was, with the vampire he’s trying to become_.  
  
Jaehwan’s singing trailed off, voice cracking around the edges from emotion, and he ducked his head, letting his hands play the last few notes before those too faded off, and left a deafening silence, where all Sanghyuk could hear was his own heartbeat. He knew Jaehwan could hear it too.  
  
It felt like they were outside of time, this moment too ethereal and intangible to really _be_. And it was ending. Jaehwan was replacing the cover over the keys, as carefully as he’d raised it, and he wasn’t looking at Sanghyuk, shuttering himself again, as best he could.   
  
Sanghyuk wanted to stop this moment from fading, from dissolving around the corners until it was a memory, but he had no words; there was a storm inside him, choking him, tearing him apart, he wanted to fall to Jaehwan’s feet and weep.   
  
Jaehwan was standing, eyes on the ground as he stepped away from the bench, and Sanghyuk was stricken.   
  
This couldn’t go on. They couldn’t do this anymore. They couldn’t—  
  
Jaehwan moved, to step by Sanghyuk, to leave the room, and Sanghyuk found himself reaching out, fast, faster than he could stop himself. He cupped Jaehwan’s face, stepping in so he pushed Jaehwan with his body against the piano, and kissed him.   
  
Jaehwan’s body stiffened against him, but his lips were as soft as Sanghyuk remembered, and his skin went from frigid to burning hot under Sanghyuk’s mouth. His hands came up to clutch desperately at Sanghyuk’s shoulders even as he tried to arch away, tipping his head back and tearing his mouth from Sanghyuk’s.   
  
“No,” Jaehwan gasped, voice catching on a sob. “No, please, Sanghyuk—”  
  
His legs buckled, and Sanghyuk went with him as he slid to the floor, until both of them were kneeling on the marble. Sanghyuk kept Jaehwan’s face cupped between his palms and kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, even as tears began to fall from Jaehwan’s eyes, red and thick. Jaehwan’s hands were fisted in Sanghyuk’s shirt, trembling, using Sanghyuk as a pillar to keep himself at least semi-upright.  
  
“Please,” Jaehwan whispered, eyes squeezed shut, flinching back like Sanghyuk was hurting him. Sanghyuk probably was hurting him.  
  
“I’ve missed you,” Sanghyuk said thickly, and Jaehwan blinked his eyes open, utter despair written across his features.  
  
“You really are determined to break every piece of me, aren’t you?” Jaehwan asked haltingly.   
  
“I never wanted to hurt you, Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said honestly, feeling raw with it, “I never wanted either of us to get hurt.” He swiped his thumbs over Jaehwan’s cheeks, wiping at the bloody tears, and Jaehwan’s eyes fluttered shut once more.  
  
“Please,” Jaehwan whispered, “please please please—”   
  
Sanghyuk pressed his mouth to Jaehwan’s, cutting him off, and Jaehwan went slack against him, not fighting it this time. His lips parted on a shaky sigh, and he wrapped his arms around Sanghyuk’s neck. He was so warm, so warm, and he still tasted like mint and copper, slim in Sanghyuk’s arms. He was shaking, like a leaf in an autumn breeze. He felt about as fragile too and Sanghyuk ached with it.  
  
The marble was hard against Sanghyuk’s knees, so he turned them, grasping Jaehwan carefully and laying him down on the floor. Jaehwan went willingly, though a sob hiccuped out of him.   
  
“Don’t do this, Sanghyuk,” Jaehwan gasped, even as his legs dropped open for Sanghyuk to settle between, his hands resting on the floor near his head, letting Sanghyuk take and take. “Don’t— not if you don’t mean it— you will kill me. I cannot bear this.”  
  
Sanghyuk pressed their bodies together, bracing one arm to the side of Jaehwan’s head, the other arm going under the small of Jaehwan’s back, making him arch and bringing their bodies together further. “I mean it,” Sanghyuk said thickly, and Jaehwan brought his hands up to cover his face as he began to weep in earnest. He tried to twist away but Sanghyuk held him fast, he _let_ Sanghyuk hold him fast. “I— Jaehwan, I can’t make promises, I can’t— give you everything I know you want from me. But I’m not going to take this back. I don’t know where we’ll go from here, but I know I’m willing to try.” His voice was trembling with his own unshed tears, and he tried to blink them away.   
  
“Try what?” Jaehwan moaned, dropping his hands enough so that he could blink up at Sanghyuk.   
  
Sanghyuk swallowed, and one tear fell, landing on Jaehwan’s cheek. “Try being together. The right way, this time.”  
  
Jaehwan’s face twisted. “Love me,” he whimpered, his hands reaching up to touch his fingertips to Sanghyuk’s jaw, his cheeks. He was getting Sanghyuk all bloody. “Love me, please, before you leave me, before I have to bury you, please, please—”  
  
 _I think I already do_ , Sanghyuk thought, but he couldn’t give that piece up just yet. So he kissed Jaehwan again instead, and Jaehwan sobbed into his mouth.


End file.
